


Bloodflowers

by lumoxy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angel Wings, Drarry, Fantasy, Heaven, Immortality, Multi, Religion, Wings, angel - Freeform, angel!draco, religious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:35:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24594640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumoxy/pseuds/lumoxy
Summary: What if you were oblivious to the fact that angels actually existed, and one has been your guardian for over sixteen years? What if you suddenly were able to see this angel, and had to become his guardian for once? This is exactly what happened to Harry on a cold day in December, 1982 on his way back from school. / A story where Draco Malfoy is Harry's guardian angel.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in quite a while, but ideas have overloaded my brain in the meantime. I've been trying to write them down ever since I finished Papillon, but never found it good enough to post. However, my best friend, and beta for this fic, J has been encouraging me to just post a chapter of the story I'm intrigued by the most - so here I am! 
> 
> I've had this idea in my head for about 5 years now, but never wrote it down until this week. I truly hope you will enjoy it, and I hope for myself that I'll be able to work on it a lot & do chapter updates quite often!
> 
> Here's to a new journey!
> 
> ｛Name of this fanfiction is inspired by the song Bloodflowers by The Cure｝
> 
> ﹛Anonymous comments/asks are always welcome on lumoxy.tumblr.com ﹜

**_Chapter 01_ **

_— after invisibility —_

_Some things aren't meant to be seen. Some things are left to be invisible. Left to be unknown. When they're seen, it can change the future, can change one's life for good. So is it truly worth to see what others can't?_

☾ *:･ﾟ✧

Snowflakes wandered down from the sky, almost like tiny fairies spreading their wings for the first time. The orange gleam of morning light shone upon them before they fell to the ground; covering carpets of greenery. Little Whinging lay underneath a blanket of snow on the morning of December the second, 1982. Slowly light after light came alive behind the windows of identical looking houses.

A boy of seventeen lay wrestling with his blanket in the dark, squinting his eyes while fighting against a dream. _Rustling of feathers. A bright white light_. A dream composed of literal chaos.

"Wake up, you sleepyhead!" The boy shot up straight, suddenly woken from that chaotic dream and entering that of reality. " _Potter!_ " The screeching voice now shouted again.

"Am awake!" the boy shouted back, as loud as he could. Lazily he then wiped the last bit of sleep out of his eyes. What was it he had dreamt of again? He couldn't remember.

" _Buttercup, flower-puff_ , wake will you?" His aunt's voice now sweet, soft, _inviting_. The opposite of before.

"Stop calling me those names, mother!" Came another voice, slightly muffled, from downstairs.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Breakfast will be ready in a bit!"

"It better be the bacon I asked for!"

"Of course, _honey-pon!_ "

The boy, named Harry, sighed deeply. Every morning he got woken the same way, every morning he woke from his dreams so suddenly that he forgot them instantly — forgot an imaginary world and all its secrets. Instead he was given a life at his aunt's house, in a world were things were unfair for orphans like himself. A world where he was slowly going mad because of it. He'd been keeping up with it for about sixteen years by now, and looked eagerly forward to the day he could leave. Gone from the noise. Gone from a family that never liked him in the first place.

Growing up at your aunt's house, together with her husband and son, perhaps didn't sound so bad — that was, unless your aunt's name was Petunia Dursley. From the moment Harry'd been brought into her house at Private Drive number four, he'd been despised by the slender, surly woman. She'd given him _one_ glance before deeming him to be a vile child for life; unable to see any good in him no matter what he did.

Sixteen years later nothing much had changed. Harry was still the black sheep of the family; a kind of disease in human form that was kept to be a secret — as much as it could be. The only thing that _had_ changed was Harry himself; he'd grown a few feet, his voice'd dropped a little and his mind had brightened. Perhaps not as bright as it could've been, but bright enough for him to pass most subjects and school, and realize how badly he got treated by his family.

It took some effort for Harry to sit up straight; to find the motivation and energy to start a new day — a new _school_ day. He simply despised school, to put it into words. Not because of the actual learning part, but because of the people there. They'd always been cruel to him — because he didn't wear the newest clothes or owned the newest gadgets, wore glasses and they simply considered him to be _weird_. Not that they even knew if he truly was or not; most students never even had a proper conversation with him. Not many teachers were friendly to him either, as they focused most of their attention on either the richest or the smartest kids.

With legs that felt like jelly, Harry searched for his round spectacles on his bedside table — _it actually was an old chair, but we shall call it by its fancy interpretation_ — and finally got up. _Bonk,_ the sound of his head hitting the sloped ceiling above his bed. Stretching of limps, muscles slowly losing their tensity. Making his way now through his room, Harry searched for the light switch in the dark; so conveniently placed as far away from the bed as it could be. The tiny space lit up instantly, and tiredly Harry blinked with his emerald green eyes. His room was shaped like that of a triangle, as the Dursleys had appointed the old, dusty attic to become his room all those years ago. Harry'd tried to make it a little less sober by hanging a variety of old scarfs he'd found on the two sloped sides of the room. It had brought some well-needed color into the dull place.

The boy now pushed the attic's ladder down, through the hatch and heard how it hit the carpeted floor of the hallway with a bang, then climbed down its wonky rungs. He yawned, let a hand ruffle through his hair and slowly shuffled his way to the bathroom. However, halfway through the hallway a door to his right opened and slammed him in the face. " _Auch!_ " He shouted, grabbing for his nose as a throbbing pain spread quick.

"Didn't see ya!" Came a mocking voice. "Oh wait — I _did!_ " A chubby, tall boy from the same age as Harry slammed the door now shut again, a smirk on his face. "Did I hurt you, Potty?" The mocking voice went on, now followed by a little laugh.

 _Dudley_. _That annoying_ pig _._ Biting his teeth, Harry tried to calm his mind, swallowed upcoming words but found himself unable to hold back. "Well, perhaps it's my fault after all — a heavy figure like yourself, should have seen that coming, shouldn't I?" He bit back.

In less than a second his nephew's face turned as red as a balloon, ready to burst. "You—" he started, pointing his chubby, equally red index finger in Harry's direction, but before he could finish his sentence, another heavy figure appeared behind him.

"What's all the fuss?" A man asked — _Vernon_ Dursley, the husband.

"Daddy,' Dudley, started, 'Harry was being _very_ rude to me, did you hear?"

Immediately Vernon's eyes spat fire; a fire Harry'd seen raging quite a few times before. "I have," Vernon answered his son, although Harry was pretty sure he hadn't. "No breakfast for you, Potter."

Perhaps ten years ago those words would've driven Harry mad, would've made him protest — but he'd been banned from the table already too many times to complain about it. "Oh _no_ ," he simply answered now, doing his best to sound and look as miserable and disappointed as he could manage. The fire in Vernon's eyes burned brighter; a smile joining along. It made Harry feel sick to his stomach to think that a grown-up man could enjoy starving a kid for fun, as torture. "Now get dressed, you scruffy boy. You should see yourself — no wonder you get bullied!" He complained, turning a little more purple with every word he spat. Then he shoed Harry away, into the bathroom where he'd been peacefully making his way to earlier.

In there, Harry took a moment to breathe and sat himself down on the edge of the tub, eyes pointed to the floor. His round glasses slid to the tip of his nose, but he pushed them back up and inhaled deeply once more. "You can take this," he told himself in whispers. He wasn't quite sure how much longer he could, but he tried his best each and every day. Standing up again, Harry looked into the mirror above the sink; catching the reflection of himself. Hair as dark as a raven's feathers, eyes as green as freshly cut grass. Skin pale with a hint of olive, a few random dark brown freckles spread across his face — clustering together around his nose like little stars. Was he considered handsome? Harry didn't quite know, as he'd never heard anyone call him that way. The only words look-wise he'd been given were strange, ugly, scruffy, filthy, poor — together with a handful of comments about his glasses. _No_ , Harry decided, _I'm pretty certain I'm no the most good-looking chap out there._

Taking his round glasses off, Harry washed his face with some water while trying to think of something else than the negative comments floating around in his head. His mind drifted off towards school again, and a slight nauseous feeling filled his stomach with dread. Lifting his face again, he dried it with a clean towel — kept it rested against his eyes for a moment longer. As he lowered it, and his eyes grazed past the mirror once more, he caught something moving in its reflection. Did the painting behind him just move a few inches to the left? Whirling around immediately, Harry took a step closer towards the very painting. The seascape depicted on it still looked the same, but its frame definitely didn't. With a little push, Harry hung it straight again, took a step backwards and gave it one final look before turning around again. A shake of his head. _It's probably because I'm not wearing my glasses,_ Harry thought to himself, before putting them back on. _My vision was blurred, and therefore I thought I'd seen it move. Dudley probably bumped in to it earlier._

Even though it might sound strange, it was something that had happened quite a few times before in Harry's life; strange things that he'd never been able to explain. He'd already seen things move many times prior to that encounter in the bathroom, had seen people suddenly act strange, had escaped a handful of accidents… and no matter how many times they happened, Harry'd always kept telling himself that it was nothing, that he'd imagined it. Yet sometimes, at night when he laid alone in bed surrounded by the dark, he often wondered if there was something — or _someone_ — out there. And then, during those nights while he had those thoughts, it often felt like those thoughts were right, and a presence other than himself was close to him.

But usually Harry just forgot about the event within the next few minutes, and went on with his day as normal. _Just like now._

Once up on the attic again, Harry opened the doors of his closet and stared at the few clothing items hanging from the rail. What to wear today? _The baggy black trousers or… the baggy black trousers?_ Deciding on going for the baggy black trousers, Harry pulled out a pastel blue jumper along with it, changed into the chosen items and closed the doors again. Watching his reflection once more in the cracked closet's mirror, Harry let out a deep sigh. The jumper was old and torn; its wool all fizzy. Not to mention it made his hair a completely mess after he pulled it over his head. With raven locks now directed in each possible way, Harry quickly went through it with his hands. To no avail. _Forget it._

Making his way downstairs, he was met with the smell of bacon floating through the air. It made his painfully empty stomach grumble. Briefly, Harry looked into the kitchen where he found his nephew, aunt and uncle around the table, eating the very bacon he smelled and knew Dudley so desperately wanted. Nobody noticed him, and even if they had, neither of them would've invited him to come have breakfast anyway. Vernon had never changed his mind in sixteen years, and he definitely wasn't going to that day.

Putting on his shoes in the entryway and grabbing his bag from the closet under the stairs, Harry decided it was best to just walk to school a little earlier than to linger around. He wasn't going to be able to get anything edible from the kitchen anyway, and the longer he stayed, the more chance he had that Vernon or Dudley would annoy him once more. As the conversation from the kitchen slowly drifted into Harry's ears — once again about Dudley's outstanding school grades — he put on his coat. _If only they knew Dudley paid one of the school's best students to make his homework instead of doing it himself_ , Harry thought to himself, shaking his head. The books in his bag weighed down upon his thin frame as he swung his bag over his shoulder, and for a moment Harry needed to find his balance again. _Why can't anything go easy for once,_ Harry wondered to himself and he sighed deeply, leaving the house.

A sea of white; cold and blinding Harry as he surrounded himself with it. Green eyes blinked, feet dragged themselves through a thick layer of snow. The sound of a passing car, driving slower than usual. Harry lifted his gaze, trying to adjust himself to the landscape around him. _It's bloody cold_ , he concluded, tucking his hands away in a jacket too light for the current weather conditions. A handful of houses identical to that of the Dursleys passed by him in a flash, followed by a lane with large trees on either side — now as white as could be.

Then came Little Whinging's local church; a huge white building with a tower-like structure at the front, stained-glass windows all around and a life-sized Nativity scene next to it to celebrate upcoming Christmas. Somehow Harry couldn't help but always bow his head when he passed the building — though the boy didn't quite know why exactly he did that, as he wasn't that religious nor had even set _foot_ inside the very church. It had always just been a feeling, almost as if an invisible hand pushed his head down and whispered in his ear that he should show some respect towards the unknown — towards the _holy_ , as they called it.

Halfway his walk, the boy spotted a stray cat making its way through the snow with small jumps. As Harry drew closer, it instantly turned around to come running the other way; _his_ way. It received pets on its ginger-colored fur with delight, and Harry couldn't help but grin just a little. Cats, especially strays, always seemed to be attracted to him — always asked to be petted and loved. It was like that with a lot of other animals too. Dogs happily barked at him or wagged their tails, birds randomly landed on his shoulder or flew close to him, butterflies were quite the same. There really wasn't a reason for it, but it fascinated Harry and made him feel less alone — perhaps _wanted_ , for once.

☾ *:･ﾟ✧

At school Harry got mocked at the entire day — _as always_. "Potty Potter — looking as _scruffy_ as ever! Surprises me they even let you inside in the first place," came one snide remark from one of Dudley's friends. "Can't afford a new sweater, Potter?" came another. It was standard talk, yet Harry couldn't help but feel a little humiliated as those words were shot at him. Of course there'd been many times where he'd defended himself; but usually they were with many, and he was always alone. Fights happened faster than one would think, and Harry simply got tired of returning home with bruises and black eyes, and no one to take his side.

In class he kept himself quiet, only answering a few questions as he hopefully awaited for the last bell to ring. And when it rang, the boy ran outside as fast as he could, forever one of the first ones to leave the school grounds.

Today however, as he left the gates and turned to his right, someone snatched him by the collar of his jacket. Breath caught as he got dragged backwards a little, pushed against a wall. "Where you think you're going, Potty?" Dudley stood in front of him; tall and bulbous, a smirk upon his chubby face. A few of his friends lingered around too, all wearing the same kind of smiles.

"Let me go, Dudley," Harry resisted weakly, letting out a sigh.

" _Let me go, Dudley_ ," followed his nephew's mocking voice. "First apologize for what you called me this morning!"

 _Is this boy_ truly _still upset about one comment,_ Harry wondered to himself before rolling his eyes. Dudley now tightened his grasp on Harry's jacket, clearly not liking when his opponent was rolling his eyes and such — the _audacity_ , you know. "Alright,' Harry started, doing his best not to sigh once more, 'I apologize for calling you a heavy figure…' Dudley curtly nodded his chubby head, eyebrows frown. '… I now realize I just should've called you _fat_."

With those words out, Harry strangled himself out of his jacket and took off — running as fast as his legs could take him. " _Potter!_ " came Dudley's voice, furious. Curse words flew around his ears, as well as the sound of footsteps that followed him. One glance over his shoulder was enough to find out at least five people were storming behind him; raging with fury. Yet Harry couldn't help but smile as he kept on running through the snow.

After a few minutes and taking secret passageways he'd found during all his walks to- and from school, Harry finally managed to lose Dudley and his friends. Slowing down his pace, he turned around and walked a little backwards to see if they really were gone. A cold wind blew in his face, his figure shivering and missing the warmth of his jacket. As he turned around again, Harry's clumsy feet slipped over an icy part on the road. Falling onto his bum he cursed out loud before quickly crawling up again. His mind was set on going back home, continuing his walk, but his feet stayed on the ground as if glued. Harry found himself unable move after he'd seen that car — _so suddenly there_. Suddenly so _close_.

A _push_. Something extremely _warm_ had just touched his back. Harry tumbled forward, fell over his own feet and hit the sidewalk. Car brakes, the sound of impact. Trying to ground himself, Harry placed his hands firmly on the street, digging into the freshly fallen snow. Slowly, he then crawled back up and hesitantly turned around, afraid of what he'd see. A feeling of panic raced through his veins, a rush of adrenaline joining as he saw what laid in front of him, on the street, on the spot where he stood just seconds ago. _There_ where he would've been had he not been pushed forward.

_It isn't real. It's imaginary. Fake. Simply an illusion._

At first glance Harry thought it wasn't real — at first he couldn't quite decipher what it was _exactly_ that he saw. The fog of panic then faded away a little, and his mind was quick to make out a person, a boy around his age, on the street. Skin as white as the snow around him, hair the same shade. Clothing an ethereal white too, from his silk shirt to his trousers. Barefoot. _Vulnerable_. The boy seemed to blend in perfectly in the frosty winterscape, and Harry found it quite a strange sight — a sight he had never seen before.

Hesitantly yet determined, Harry took a step forward. _You got to help him. He needs help._ The back of the boy's shirt then slowly turned a crimson red — like spilled ink slowly drenching into paper. It spread fast, making white disappear and Harry's hands shake. A nauseous feeling overwhelmed him instantly; the sight of blood too much to bare. Feeling like throwing up, Harry looked away for just a second before biting his teeth and pushing through. "My God, are you alright?" he somehow managed to get out as he bended through his knees, a shaking hand placing itself on the boy's arm.

Fingertips then met something so extremely cold that Harry couldn't help but pull away again immediately, as it burned like ice on an open wound. Barely pulled away, the boy suddenly moved as if coming to life again — lifting his head from the ground and staring directly into Harry's eyes.

For a moment Harry was afraid, terrified, but also… _mesmerized_. The feelings were so overwhelming that he forgot who he was, what he was doing, how to _breathe_ … As if he suddenly ceased to exist. Nothing made sense no more, and he felt completely fine with it. Like drifting on a cloud — slowly away from reality and everything that defined the world he lived in.

 _White flowers blooming, rays of sunlight so bright they blinded your eyes. A white cat crossing a snowy street._ The strangest images of pure white things flashed in front of his eyes, as if a movie was playing in his head, especially and only for him, created by this mysterious person.

That exact moment Harry realized he'd never seen a boy — no, a _thing of this earth_ ever as beautiful as this boy in front of him. He chose the word _beautiful_ because there simply weren't any other words for it, besides perhaps its endless amount of synonyms. _Perfect_ , that would've been another word to describe him as well — with his skin as if made out of porcelain, no blemish to be seen. With eyes that appeared white, yet became a pale grey the longer Harry remained locked with them.

"You can see me?" the boy then asked, but it took a moment for Harry to let those words come through — to realize words had been spoken at all. It was as if the words had to travel through a forest of fog to reach his ears — but when they did, Harry blinked and got pushed back into reality.

"Of—of course," he answered, his voice suddenly shaking and his lips dry.

The boy kept the gaze, and Harry couldn't look away either — as if he was forbidden to, as if the boy would disappear if he chose to do so. _Spellbound_. _Entranced_. _Locked_. Harry did however notice a slight change; the boy suddenly seemed worried, afraid almost. "That is _not_ good, Harry. That is not how it's supposed to be." Once again the words traveled through a thick layer of fog, and the boy's angelic voice passed by Harry's ears like a soft breeze. It was as if he was looking through a hazy tunnel, with himself on one end and the boy on the other — flickering like an hallucination.

"Why not?" Harry managed to reply, unaware that this boy, who was a complete stranger to him, knew his name.

Before the boy could answer, a different voice interrupted their moment and made the boy break the gaze. It felt as if Harry got kicked in the stomach by reality — as if he'd fallen from a skyscraper in his dream and stirred awake at once. It took a few seconds for him to collect himself, but the voice rambled on next to him in the meantime, _worried_. "My dear boy… did I hurt you? I didn't hit you, did I?" It was a panicked voice, accompanied by a panicking woman. "I really thought I'd missed you by a hair, but then it felt as if I'd hit something and—"

"You _did!"_ Harry exclaimed, suddenly realizing what the woman was talking about. He met her gaze, finding confusion in her eyes.

"You don't look hurt to me, my boy," the woman responded, eyebrows frown and worried eyes still upon Harry.

Dazed, Harry tried to make sense of the current situation but found himself unable to. "Because I'm not,' he started, ' _he_ is!" Gesturing towards the boy next to him again, Harry tried to draw the woman's attention to the boy dressed in white — but to no avail.

"I have no clue _what_ or _who_ you're talking about," the woman declared. "Perhaps I _did_ hit you and you fell on your head or something…"

Shaking his head — _that he supposedly hit_ — Harry's confusion grew even more. "I— I didn't…" Slowly the raven haired boy started to doubt himself. _Did I really not get hit as well? Why is this woman ignoring the boy while he's obviously there? Obviously_ bleeding _? What's going on?_ The fog around his head only grew thicker and made him extremely dizzy, his mind overwhelmed and his legs tremble.

"Let me help," a voice to his left then proposed — a voice so soft and delicate that Harry almost didn't catch it. Realizing it couldn't come from any other than the boy, Harry turned his head towards him again — but found him no longer there. Instead, the boy stood on his other side — so suddenly, as if he'd teleported himself there. His pale gaze grazed past Harry's before his irises turned white again, pointing themselves at the woman. Her blue eyes got instantly drawn to them like magnets, and Harry had no clue of what happened next. Their gaze only lasted a few seconds, but during those seconds it had felt as if the world around him had stopped. There hadn't been any noise, there hadn't been any movement. _Just their gaze_. Without another word the woman then walked away, back towards her car which she'd hurriedly parked in the distance. She drove off without looking back, and Harry watched as the car left the street.

A painful feeling then took ahold of Harry's arm, and as he turned his head towards it, he realized it was the boy. "I know it must be terribly hurtful, but I beg you, for I cannot stand any longer on my own," came the boy's pleading voice — pleading yet calm, the strangest combination Harry'd ever heard.

The boy's grip was tight, and indeed terribly hurtful. It was extremely hot, as if he was pouring boiling water on his own skin. Still, Harry kept his lips tightly shut about it, and bit through the pain. The boy needed help, needed to be supported or he'd fall. "What was all that?" Harry then asked, out of breath as he tried to fight the pain he felt around his arm.

"I shall explain later," the boy answered. "Please, take me to a sheltered place."

"A sheltered place?"

"To the attic."

"The attic — _wait_ … how do you know where I live?" A million questions then flooded Harry's mind at once, and he had to do his very best not to feel overwhelmed yet again.

"I shall explain later," the boy repeated. "Please…"

Unsure of what to do, Harry hesitated for a few seconds longer, but then decided he couldn't let this boy suffer any more, and gave in. "It's a few more minutes walking though — will you be able to manage?" The boy in white nodded. "Wouldn't it be better if I took you to a hospital? To a doctor? You are bleeding and seem terribly hurt…"

The boy shook his head, tried to form words with his lips but seemed to find himself unable to speak. With a deep sigh, Harry decided to trust this strange boy, and started walking back home.

Harry's arm felt scorched when they arrived at number four, yet he hadn't complained about it once to the boy; had let him support his full weight onto his own thin frame. Not that the boy weighed that much; perhaps even the same as him. Opening the front door, Harry hoped for dear life that Dudley wasn't home yet, and as he helped the boy inside with small, light footsteps he tried to stay as silent as he could — just to make sure. "Finally home, Potter?" came a voice. Harry's heart jumped out of surprise. "There's dishes waiting for you in the sink and potatoes waiting to be peeled!" Another jump at the realization that it was only aunt Petunia's screeching voice coming from the kitchen, and not that of his nephew.

"Got to do my homework first!" Harry shouted back.

"Better do it quick then!" the woman answered, but it reached Harry's ears only faintly as he was already halfway up the stairs.

"They can't see you, can they?" he then asked the boy as he slid down the ladder to the attic. He only shook his head, still too exhausted to answer with words.

With the greatest effort, Harry managed to help the boy get onto the ladder, through the hatch and up the attic, where he collapsed onto the floor and stayed still as if dead. "Are you — are you alright?" Harry hesitantly asked after a few seconds, looking at the strange sight of the strange boy. His skin looked a shade paler than before, something Harry'd thought to be impossible. _This boy truly isn't feeling well_ , he told himself, and hurriedly ran to his bed to get a pillow and blanket for the boy. But when he turned around again, he had crawled up to his feet, his covered-in-blood back positioned towards Harry. It made him swallow, drop the blanket and clutch the pillow, trying not to feel sick again.

"It shall be better if you do not look, Harry," the boy then said, having found energy to speak again — his voice so calm compared to the current situation.

Harry blinked a few times with his eyes, trying to understand the boy's words. "Not look?"

"Just turn around, close your eyes and do _not_ look until I tell you to," the boy explained calmly.

If it had been Dudley or someone else asking him to do just that, he'd told them to bugger off. But something — _something_ about this boy made him more willing, made him unable to ignore and neglect what he got told to do. "Alright…" he answered, almost whispered, and slowly turned around before closing his eyes.

Harry tried to focus on his hearing, but only heard the rustling of fabric, followed by a loud noise he couldn't place at all. It sounded like a certain rustling as well, but something he hadn't quite heard before. It confused him, and it took the greatest effort not to open his eyes out of sheer curiosity. And then there were these voices — at least a million that were calling his name; telling him to turn around and look.

 _Open your eyes, Harry,_ they said. _Open them now._

It was the strangest thing Harry'd ever experienced — even stranger than the gaze he'd held with the boy dressed in white. Were did these voices come from? Why did they want him to look so badly? Squeezing his eyes a little more, Harry fought against the urge — but invisible strings tied to his back wanted to pull him the other way around, wanted to make him _see_. And finally he gave in, unable to control himself any longer and looked.

Eyes opened slowly, their gaze lifted and staring into the cracked mirror of Harry's wardrobe. The reflection he saw confused him at first, but it didn't last very long as such an intense feeling overcame him that his heart stopped beating and his breath caught in his throat. Words weren't there to be said, thoughts weren't there to think. Everything stopped, and the overwhelming feeling of the unknown hit Harry like waves against a cliff.

 _Wings_. White and reaching at least six feet on either side.

Even if he wanted to, he couldn't look away no more — his eyes laid locked upon this person, this _creature_ in front of him, unwilling to let go. Hundreds of feathers, large and small, with the finest little hairs and in the purest white color he'd ever seen. The more he looked, the more he saw. The left wing was slightly trembling, and after a few seconds it seemed to collapse a little; folding itself inward. A few feathers wandered down from the wing onto the floor in the process. It was then that Harry noticed the blood around the part where the left wing was connected to the boy's back. The blood was bright red in some places and almost black in the others, as if parts of it had dried but new wounds were creating themselves at the same time. Seeing this broke Harry's trance a little, and finally he found his voice again.

"You're— you're an _angel,_ " he said, his own voice sounding strange to his ears.

The boy whirled around immediately, his wings moving with him. He'd taken off his shirt, which exposed his chest completely; just as perfect as his face aside from the strange white scars that ran zigzag over his torso in elegant lines — like some kind of secret script. But Harry didn't get much time to take them in, as his green gaze got drawn to the boy's pale eyes once more. Wide eyes, their pupils blown. "I told you not to look," the boy, the _angel_ , said with his calm voice now a little less calm. His eyes were set worried, and as he frowned his white eyebrows, he seemed to inspect every inch of Harry's face. "You are a very strange boy, Harry. _Very_ strange," he then declared, relaxing his own face again.

Harry was now the one to frown. "You call _me_ strange? I'm not the one with wings on my back," he shot back, not quite understanding where the boy was coming from.

"And that is exactly it, is it not? You are not _supposed_ to see me," explained the boy. "Nobody can see angels, except for other angels."

"Then why can I?"

"I am unsure," the boy answered, his face actually set unsure as well. "I shall ask my brothers once I return."

What on earth was this boy talking about? Harry felt as if he was growing dumber why the second, yet learning more every time the mysterious angel-boy opened his mouth. " _Brothers_? Return to _where_?"

"Heaven, of course."

"There is an actual _Heaven_?" Harry gaped slightly with wide eyes, in disbelief.

The boy faintly smiled, answering Harry's question with a glistering in his eyes. "Do you know why I find you a strange boy, Harry?"

Still a little in awe that Heaven _actually_ existed, Harry remained baffled a few seconds longer before answering. "Wouldn't have a clue… I would consider myself pretty normal, _thank you very much_."

The corner of the boy's mouth quivered slightly, as if a tiny smile wanted to jump out — yet the boy oppressed it, and asked another question instead. "Do you know what happens when a mortal lays eyes upon an angel?" Harry shook his head, once again clueless. "They become overwhelmed; their minds not able to take in something from another world. They either faint, go blind, get stuck in some kind of trance for life or…" The boy fell silent, seemingly unwilling to go on.

"Or?" Harry pushed, wanting to hear what else could've happened.

"Or die _instantly_." Harry swallowed, the thought alone that he could've died earlier by simply glancing at the boy suddenly a lot to take in. "The fact that neither of those four options happened to you makes you a very strange boy, Harry. The strangest mortal I've come across in my years and years of immortal life."

"You're immortal?" Harry now gasped, trying to get his mind off the _you-could-have-died_ part. Once again, a faint smile followed. "That was a dumb question, wasn't it? I should know an angel can't be human like myself… Is your heart gone then?" Not exactly sure why he asked about the boy's heart, Harry suddenly felt guilty for doing so. Was it perhaps a rude question to ask?

But the angel-boy didn't seem to mind it very much, and answered immediately. "It is still there,' he started, placing a pale hand upon his chest, 'but it hasn't beaten a single beat in about two-hundred years." As the boy slowly lowered his hand again, Harry kept his eyes fixated on where his heart laid — under pale white skin, under the lines of a few scars.

"Is that when you became an angel? Two-hundred years ago?"

"That is indeed when I passed to the life beyond the one you know, and was invited by God to become an immortal and later on return to Earth once more."

Lost for words, Harry remained silent for a good minute. He just needed a moment to let it all drench into his brain; let all this new, _unworldly_ information sink in. "It sounds so— so _magical_ almost," he stuttered to the boy once he had his thoughts collected again. At least, a _little_. "Is it a good life? You know— being _immortal_ and stuff?"

This question seemed to confuse the boy for a second, and he blinked with his pale grey eyes. "I actually don't know… nobody's ever asked me so directly before…" He seemed to think about it for another while, then returned to his calm and ethereal state. "I'd say it has it's good and it's bad sides, Harry."

"Explain."

The boy blinked rapidly with his eyes again, surprised, almost _shocked_ by Harry's directness and sheer interest. "Well,' he started, 'there are many, _many_ things that are wonderful about being an angel — and I am sure I shall tell you more about that as time goes by."

"And the _bad_ sides?"

Pale eyes casted their gaze away, staring at nothing in particular now. "Loneliness is our greatest enemy, Harry. Understand me well when I say that there is no greater love than that of our God, but individual love is simply not there."

Harry then pointed a finger towards the ceiling; towards the sky. "I thought you had brothers up there — other angels?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders slightly. "They are all individual souls that are busy with completely individual tasks. Not all of them are nice either — they're all _very_ different. And then there's Samael… you might know him as our fallen angel?" Harry nodded, though he had never heard about the name Samael before, but _fallen angel_ sparked a few memories of something he'd read about before. Wasn't the name Lucifer more common amongst humans? "It isn't true what the mortals say; about him having lost his wings. He _hasn't_. They're still there; gigantic and black — ready to destroy everything or anyone that crosses their path. However, Samael cannot fly with them — at least, not higher than a few miles up. He's unable to reach Heaven and the places that belong to the Beyond," the boy explained. "God has asked us to see him as our brother still, but I simply can't. I fear him each and every day for I know what he is capable of, and know how immensely furious he is. _Offended_. In search of revenge. I fear his powers." Harry saw the fear that the boy was talking about reflect in his eyes — twirl around like a tornado and making his pupils twitch.

"Aren't your powers equally as strong as his then?" Harry now asked, simply out of curiosity and perhaps a growing fear towards Samael as well.

The boy shrugged his shoulders once more. "My brothers say they are, but I can't see what they mean. My powers seem normal — my special strength boring."

"Your special strength?"

"Every angel has a numerous amount of powers that we consider ' _normal_ '. Reading and controlling minds, movings things by pure will, healing, flying… And then each angel has a special power that others do not possess. Some have the same, but there are a few rare ones out there as well. I, for example, have a _rare_ power."

Interest triggered, Harry's eyes grew wide. "Can you show me?" Eagerly, he blinked a few times with that wide gaze of his, but the boy shook his head.

"Perhaps not now, Harry. Perhaps another time. I need to take care of my wing first—"

"Oh!" Harry then exclaimed, interrupting the boy. Placing his hands to his mouth, red creeping up his neck out of guilt. "You're hurt! Of course!" Feeling immensely stupid and like the world's most idiotic human being, a feeling of extremely guilt washed over him. How could he have distracted the boy for so long? Who knew in how much pain he might've been this entire time!

A corner of the boy's mouth slightly lifted upward. "It is alright, Harry. I knew how full your mind was — full of questions, am I right?"

Nodding, Harry still felt bad about it. "Will you be able to heal it here?"

"I'm not quite sure. Not _entirely_ , at least," the boy explained, glancing at his reflection in the closet's mirror for a quick second before quickly casting his eyes away again — as if looking at himself burned him up from within.

Two hands then joined themselves onto the boy's chest, eyes closed as both wings opened up fully again — the left one still twitching and shivering. Speechless, green emeralds watched as a soft yellow glow illuminated from the boy's entire figure — a light glowing the brightest around the place where he was hurt. In an instant the blood slowly faded away, and the spot started looking less sore. But then the wing collapsed again — ending the magical glow.

The strangest sound then escaped from the boy's lips; as if he let out a painful breath. It wasn't loud, but Harry'd heard it nonetheless. He ignored it however, and kept on watching as the boy once again quickly glanced into the mirror before turning away equally as fast again. "Why can't you look into the mirror longer?" Harry couldn't help but ask, knowing his curiosity was once again jumping out.

"Vanity," the boy simply answered, and it was enough for Harry to understand. It were all things he should've known — things he should've remembered had he paid more attention in his religion classes at school.

His gaze then landed on the boy's wound again, which definitely looked a whole lot better than before. "Are you healed now?"

The boy shook his head. "Not by far. For now however, it's enough." Without another word or warning, the enormous wings then both folded themselves and disappeared into the boy's back as if it was the most normal thing in the world. A pale, smooth back was the only thing left visible — besides the wound that now looked flat and had a pale pink color.

" _Wow_ ," Harry couldn't help but let escape from his lips. The boy smiled, for the first time showing off a set of teeth that for once weren't eternally white but the ivory color they _should_ be. It warmed something inside Harry's heart; to know that at least a _little_ part of this boy was still the same as him.

Before either of them could say another word, Petunia's screeching voice called for Harry's name once more. With everything that had happened, Harry'd totally forgotten he still had to do the dishes and peel w _ho-knew-how-many_ potatoes. "I need to go downstairs for a bit," he explained to the boy. "I—"

" _I know_ ," the boy interrupted him, still holding a little smile.

Squinting his eyes now slightly, Harry gave him a funny look. "You seem to know a lot about me, don't you?"

"If only you knew, Harry James Potter."

Blinking rapidly a few times with his eyes, Harry had to put a hand against the wall behind him to ground himself. How on _earth_ did he know his full name? Shaking his head a little now, Harry opened the hinge again, pushed the ladder down. "Get ready to answer a million more questions when I return."

"With pleasure."

"Oh—" Harry was halfway down the ladder when he stopped, popped his head up the attic again. "Feel free to take a new shirt from my closet, before you catch a cold or something."

"Will do."

Lowering his head again, Harry was about to lower another rung when another thought struck his mind, and he looked up at the boy once more. "What is your _name_ , actually? You haven't told me yet."

The boy now smiled. "Draconis — but my brothers call me _Draco_."

"Like a dragon?"

"Like the constellation, my _mortal_."


	2. Chapter 2

****

**Chapter 02** ****

_— an angel's perspective —_

_"I sit here in the thunder. The green on the grey. I feel it all around me. And it's not easy for me to give away a secret." — Under The Ivy, Kate Bush_

☾ *:･ﾟ✧

_Draco_

"It's alright sweetie, you can close your eyes now."

A soft kiss on a forehead, probably the last. A cough, so loud and painful it made a dozen eyes blink. The lights were dimmed, the curtains closed. In a crescent-shaped line family stood, their gaze upon a ten year old girl in bed. A blue blanket pulled to her chin, her mother by her side. Small, half-closed brown eyes looked around the room; resting their gaze upon each person for a few seconds before skipping to the next. A last look. A last _memory_. Brown eyes then reflected white — opening wide. Draco smiled softly, with a hint of melancholy. "Are you ready to go?" he asked the girl, reaching a hand out towards her.

For a moment the little girl hesitated, unsure who this strange figure was that had joined her family. Until she finally grasped who and _what_ Draco was. "But — but what about my family? Won't they miss me?" Her tired eyes looked around once more. Time had stopped, the girl's visitors frozen in their stance.

"Of course they will, little one. I am however sure that you shall forever remain in their hearts." Taking a few steps closer now, Draco kneeled down on one knee next to the girl's bed, looking up into those big, brown eyes. "Aren't you tired of hurting then?" A shimmering gaze as a sign of upcoming tears. A small nod. "Shall I take the pain away?" Reaching out his hand once more, the girl finally laid her small hand in his.

Walking to the door, hand in hand, Draco threw one last look over his shoulder. Time had resumed itself, and everyone had bursted into tears — sobs for a wonderful little girl that would most definitely be missed.

☾ *:･ﾟ✧

_Shame. Humiliation. Disgrace._ Draco needed to control his own feelings from jumping out as he passed through the golden gates of Heaven, the little girl still by his side. "Is this heaven, mister Angel?" she now asked, to which he nodded.

"And who do we have here?" Another sweet voice followed. A woman with long, ginger curls stood waiting just beyond the gates, dressed in a lace white frock. "I'll take it from here, Draco," she told him, giving him a look of compassion with her eyes.

"Good-bye!" The girl called behind him, waving her little hand.

Draco waved back, sure that his heart would've broken by now must it've been beating — yet he knew she'd be in good hands from now on and healthier than she was in her human life. Bare feet moved themselves swiftly over clouded grounds, onto golden tiled floors and through streets paved in silver. Everywhere he passed, eyes got casted upon him and whispers broke free. Draco let his head hang, ashamed. The worst thing was that it wasn't the first time he'd felt so deeply ashamed. It had happened many times before — and each time he'd thought it would be the last…

A massive, ivory building towered above him at the end of one of the hundreds of little streets, and with a deep sigh Draco went inside. Light in a variety of colors got cased upon him, on the surrounding walls and the floor beneath his feet. The gigantic entry hall of the Guardian Angels' Community Center reminded Draco of the buildings on earth that the Mortals called churches. With its glass-stained windows and chilly feel. The hall laid deserted with not a soul in sight, but it was too early for Draco to feel relieved — for he knew all the gossiping got done upstairs.

And indeed, once his feet dragged themselves up the many golden steps of a massive staircase, he was met with the buzzing of at least a hundred voices. _It's alright, Draco. It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. She was just very,_ very _sick._ Hesitantly he stepped inside. Noticing his presence, the room fell quiet as all eyes turned upon him. _Laughter_ , it broke free as if a vase had burst and its water streamed out — unable to hold it in any longer.

Doing a literal walk of shame, Draco passed through the crowd of people dressed in white from head to toe — white scars upon their shown flesh and white wings behind their backs. They kept laughing, whispering, pointing. Some kept quiet, others cried instead. Heaven would forever be a divided place just like Earth — no matter how good their souls were.

Passing through a set of double doors, Draco entered another large, open room with very little furniture inside. The lights were slightly dimmed and added to the gloomy atmosphere that hung in the air. In there he found a handful of other angels, more brothers of his, lounging around. They almost immediately laughed as well, shaking their heads. "You must feel _deeply_ ashamed right now, don't you?" One, named Ansel, asked. "I mean — another mortal of yours _dead_?"

"Yeah—," André now jumped in. "— we're starting to wonder if you aren't killing them on purpose or something."

 _That's it._ Fury rose within Draco; a fury that angels didn't express quite often. "The _audacity_!" he shouted, biting through his teeth. "The _thought_ alone!" Humiliated and infuriated Draco took André by his shirt, a tight grasp as he held white eyes locked with white. André's gaze was strong, his power of fire starting to burn him from within — but Draco knew he was stronger and pushed it away, using all the anger and humiliation he felt inside of him. Within a second André fainted and collapsed into a little heap on the floor.

" _Draco!_ " Another angel now called. "You _knew_ he was just kidding!" Biting his teeth, Draco let himself fall down upon one of the chairs, letting a hand go through his hair. The other angel, named Aaron, sat himself down on the chair opposite of him. "You got to understand where we're coming from as well, don't you? Imagine if one of us had gone through almost a _hundred_ mortals by now — in _only_ two-hundred years of their existence as an angel!"

"Perhaps _you_ for once should consider how _I_ feel, instead of how the _others_ feel about it! Do you think I find it amusing that my mortals always either seem to die, get really sick or suddenly lose their Faith?"

Aaron gave Draco a sympathetic look, one Draco'd seen many times before in his eyes. But Aaron wasn't one to talk; in his six-hundred years of being an Angel he'd only had a handful of Mortals, all simply passing away of old age instead of disease or their sudden interest in Satan. It had made him one of the best guardian angels Heaven had ever had, and it made him very popular amongst the ones who lived in the Beyond. A popularity Draco would never know.

Another set of doors opened before Aaron could answer Draco, followed by the light footsteps of another angel Draco knew all too well. "God wants to speak to you, Draco." Gabriel's gaze was kind and understanding, his hands folded together. An ethereal glow always seemed to radiate from the archangels, and even though Draco was an immortal, Godly creature himself, he still remained fascinated and perhaps oddly mesmerized by their presence, no matter how many times he'd met them.

☾ *:･ﾟ✧

A happiness greater than Draco'd ever experiences had filled his stomach, his mind, his soul. He couldn't help but smile widely as he closed the high doors behind his back. Eyes pointed themselves in his direction once more, now curious. "A baby!" Draco shouted happily at them, at his brothers. He simply couldn't keep it a secret — he simply had to tell!

"A baby?" One of his brothers mumbled to himself, eyebrows frown. Yet it didn't take long for him to understand, and his mouth fell open, his eyes growing wide. Just like all his other brothers. "A _baby!_ "

Bolting of their chairs, they clustered themselves around Draco's figure. "Who is it? Where does he live? Are you sure it's a _baby_ baby?" Overwhelmed by his brothers' enthusiasm, Draco simply didn't know what to answer. He knew all the facts, he could speak them out but words were missing on his tongue. _Harry James Potter. Little Whinging, Surrey. Ten months old._

"We need to tell the others as well!" Aaron took ahold of Draco's arm before he could protest; wrapping his fingers tightly around his thin wrists and dragging him back to the other, more crowded area. Draco didn't stop him but followed in his fast pace, only came to a halt when Aaron did. "Listen, my dear brothers!" Aaron started, immediately drawing everyone's attention and getting them to quiet down. _Popularity_. "We have a baby!"

Shouts and screams of excitement left angels' their lips. A few cried once again — happy cries this time that resounded through the open area. Some took others into an embrace, thanked their God with whispered prayers on their lips. However, everyone grew quiet once more when a voice asked; "Who shall protect the baby?"

It was here that Aaron suddenly didn't know what to say no more, and his lips quivered as he considered how to bring the news. " _Me_ ," Draco then told the crowd, choosing to announce it himself.

A silence fell over the room; hung in the air like a magic spell — entrancing everyone to stare at Draco with wide eyes. The ones that had cried now cried more; this time in sadness again. Others complained, started to question the decision of their God. "God has made this decision. And our God knows best," Aaron declared, trying to calm everyone down. Eventually they shut their mouths and the room grew eerily quiet once more, before they answered in unison.

" _Amen_."

☾ *:･ﾟ✧

Sixteen years had passed since then, and the baby of about ten months old had grown to be a boy of nearly seventeen. Once the boy had passed the age of ten, which had been the longest time Draco had been able to guard one of his mortals, each morning he'd felt pride swell up in his chest as he saw emerald green eyes open themselves once more to wake for a new day. Accompanied by the screeching voice of that vile woman, that was.

On December the second he saw the boy wake with an equally pride feeling inside of him. Harry'd dreamt of angels, Draco recalled as he watched how the boy struggled to get up and seemed to try and remember what it was he'd dreamt about. _If only I could tell him,_ Draco thought to himself before moving a little backwards, getting out of Harry's way before following him.

That was really his job after all; following his mortal and making sure he was alright. Of course Draco couldn't do anything about people shouting at him, denying him breakfast or anything alike… but he was there to do his best — to do the most he could.

Harry now slammed the bathroom door shut, locked it and left Draco outside whom still had his eyes cast upon that chubby uncle and nephew of Harry. _Terrible, terrible mortals. God will never allow them to even set a toe on holy Heaven's grounds,_ Draco thought to himself. _A disgrace to the human race, if you ask me._ Draco'd always been glad that the Dursleys didn't have any other guardian angels in their home; as he was sure he'd have fought with one of them by now, as he knew guardian angels tended to defend their mortals no matter how vile they often could be. But the fact that they didn't have any proved Draco once more how terrible their souls truly were, and with a shake of his head he held the small golden cross around his neck in the palm of his hand — praying for the redeeming of their souls. At least… a _tiny_ bit.

Focusing his attention on his own Mortal again, Draco stepped through the closed bathroom door as if it was the most normal thing in the world. To him it felt like stepping through a shower of cold rain; a little chilly but nothing more. Noticing Harry was looking at himself in the mirror, Draco positioned himself right behind the boy. He himself almost reached six feet two, while Harry stayed at a mediocre five feet six. Keeping his own gaze on the boy's reflection and not his own — vanity was one of the biggest sins angels should not commit — Draco tried to read his thoughts through those emerald eyes of his.

 _Strange, ugly, scruffy, filthy, poor._ The negativity flowed through Harry's mind and made Draco blink for he simply couldn't believe those thoughts to be real. Harry had grown up to be quite a handsome young man; with his dark, unruly hair and those little freckles like stars. A lovely structured face and those beautiful eyes Draco desperately wished he had had

Still lost in his own thoughts about how _his_ Mortal had in fact grown up to be _handsome_ and _not_ a scruffy young boy at all, Draco didn't notice Harry taking a step backwards until it was too late; his reaction a little too slow. Draco briefly bumped into the painting behind him, quickly jumping aside. Such things happened when an angel wasn't paying attention and had to move too fast; things they normally wouldn't collide with or would go through like ghosts had the opposite effect. And of course, Harry noticed it. _Clever boy too, you see,_ Draco thought to himself, once again proud. He watched as the boy gave the painting a confused stare, hung it straight again and put his glasses back on, forgetting about the incident as if it had never happened.

The rest of the day turned out clumsy as well. Draco'd accidentally pushed someone's pencil case off their table as he'd roamed through one of Harry's classrooms, followed by him bumping into someone's locker and sending the loudest bang metal could make through the hallways. The students, however, hadn't seen anything weird about it and had just glanced around to see who'd been idiotic enough to bump into one of the lockers. Draco'd always been clumsy; even before he'd become an angel. His brothers told him he was the most elegant looking of them all, but when it came to elegance in _doing_ , he was quite frankly the _worst_.

Then came the chase; Draco following his mortal in flight in order to keep up with his fast pace. Another thing Harry was good at; _running_. When Harry'd been twelve, Draco'd still tried to keep up with him, but now he knew it was a lost cause, and therefore he flew above his Mortal whenever he was running from someone or for whatever reason he'd come up with. Today he flew a little higher than usual; taking in the snowy views of the surrounding landscape as he hadn't done that yet. Little Whinging looked quite lovely under a blanket of snow, and he enjoyed the cold breeze on his face. As Draco glanced down again, he noticed Harry had stopped running and quickly he turned around, landing with both feet firmly on the ground. White eyes grazed over the snow, finding Harry with his bum on the ground after probably falling over a smooth part on the road. But his eyes — his eyes were way too wide and too worried for Draco's liking.

Looking over his shoulder, Draco spotted the nearing car immediately — but Harry was still so far away from him! Instinct kicking in, Draco ran as fast as he could, taking a leap of fate as he dived in Harry's direction and pushed him out of the way.

The most terrible feeling spread through his body as he felt the impact against his wings, his head hitting the ground. For a moment Draco was dazed, unsure of what had happened. Suddenly afraid, Draco folded his wings in, even though it was incredibly painful, and closed his eyes to take a moment for himself. He was sure he'd pushed Harry to the sidewalk, into safety — and he was sure his Mortal was alright. But himself… What had happened? Was he hurt? Why had the car been able to collide with him and not go right through him? Why—

A light touch on his arm woke him from his thoughts, and Draco immediately lifted his head, turned his eyes to lock them into the green ones he knew perfectly well. Harry was _looking_ at him, he was sure of it. _This is not normal. This is so incredibly wrong._ Nothing made sense to Draco at that moment, but he stayed calm and composed while he thought things through; tried to figure it out. Meanwhile he sent fog Harry's way through his eyes; the best way to keep a mortal dazed and still. "You can see me?"

☾ *:･ﾟ✧

How he'd managed to get onto Harry's attic room was something Draco didn't quite understand, but as soon as he'd seen the familiar brown floorboards, he'd let himself collapse and lay down for a few seconds. In those seconds, Draco stopped time — one of the powers only a few angels possessed. It was still considered a _normal_ power, but if a hundred out of millions of angels had the power, it would be a lot. A terrible pain stung him on his back — spreading towards the fingertips of his left hand, and Draco instantly knew there had to be something wrong with his left wing. Yet he was unable to move just yet, unable to find the strength to get up and heal what he could.

Just then, for once in the sixteen years he'd spent at the Dursleys their house, Draco wished they _did_ had another guardian angel — simply because he could've called out to his brother, asked for help. It wasn't reality, however, and Draco had to manage on his own.

 _Alright_. With the greatest effort he crawled upright again, glanced at Harry whom had hurriedly ran to his bed to get a blanket and pillow for Draco — _a sweet thing_ , Draco thought, but something he didn't need. Sleep was something that didn't exist in the Beyond, especially not for immortals like himself. Draco couldn't even remember what his last dream had been about, his last nightmare, the last time he'd closed his eyes for hours on end…

Turning his back to Harry, Draco tried to focus his mind — tried to find a solution to his current situation. He still felt weak, the pain in his arm and on his back still throbbing furiously. What could he do? What healing did he know to fix this? He'd have to analyze the wound first, analyze what exactly was wrong. As his mind wandered off, he didn't notice time resuming itself at first — until he saw a shadow on the floorboards lightly sway.

"It shall be better if you do not look, Harry,"

☾ *:･ﾟ✧

_Harry_

There was an angel in the Dursleys their house. Upstairs. On the attic. In Harry's room. His name was Draconis— no, _Draco_. Harry was staring in front of him, his green eyes foggy and his mind full. " _Ouch!_ " Another cut in his finger with the potato knife. _This simply can't be reality. I'm still dreaming without realizing it. But why do I feel pain in my finger then? Why does this all seem so real?_

After about an hour of doing household chores, Harry hesitantly pulled the ladder to the attic down once more and went up its rungs with his heart beating in his throat. _He's gone. He's gone. He's gone. He's…_

_… still here._

Was he surprised it had been reality and not a dream? Perhaps a little. But secretly Harry'd wished it had _been_ real, and out of relief he let out a breath he'd been holding in. "You're still here," he now commented out loud, pulling the ladder up on the attic and closing the hatch.

"Where else would I be?" Draco answered, his tone still so incredibly calm. Harry wondered what went on in Draco's head — in the head of an angel. Would he think the same way as he did? Or would his thoughts be blank, or only related to angel-things? A question Harry was definitely planning on asking — but perhaps not now.

Taking the boy — or man, Harry was quite unsure wether he could call an _Immortal_ a boy even though he still looked fairly young — in a little more again, Harry noticed he'd put on a new shirt, one of his. Or at least, it _looked_ like one of his. "Wasn't that shirt — _red_?"

An amused little smile appeared on Draco's lips. "I altered it a little, if you don't mind. Us angels are used to wearing white — other colors simply won't do."

A little baffled by the fact that Draco'd been able to change the color of a shirt just like that, Harry had to blink a few times with his eyes to believe it. Shaking his head a little, he decided it was perhaps best not to ask how he'd done that, and tiredly he made his way over to his bed. Focusing his eyes back on Draco from the other side of the room, he couldn't help but ask; "Why's that actually? All the white?" He sat himself down, arms crossed and mind curious.

Shoulders lifted slightly. "It is clean. Pure. _Ethereal_. It reminds us of the colors up there — the clouds, the bright light of the sun, all the marble and reflections of gold and silver." With one of his pale fingers pointed towards the ceiling, Harry knew Draco was referring to Heaven once more — and again Harry couldn't help but feel curious to know what the place actually looked like. "Breathtaking," he then heard Draco's calming voice comment, his figure moving a little closer to Harry.

"What?"

"You wondered what Heaven looked like — well, _breathtaking_. For _you_ , at least."

Harry laughed a little at Draco's comment, and Draco's lips curled upwards once more as well. "How did you know I was wondering just that?" he asked, a little _disturbed_ perhaps.

"I can read minds, remember."

Slowly but surely, Harry's face turned the shade of a tomato. "Y-you can read my mind?" A nod of his head followed. "Have you been reading it the entire time?" Another nod. "W-why?"

"Do you mind it, then?"

"A little…"

"I have been reading your mind since you were a child, but I understand it might be a little strange to you now. Just know I do _not_ judge any thoughts nor form my own opinion on them — I simply read them to know how you're feeling, to know if my Mortal is doing alright." The way Draco explained these things, it made Harry feel as if he was a lab-rat getting studied by a dozen of doctors, every move of him followed. "Would you like me to stop reading your mind, Harry?"

"Please!"

A little surprised by the immediate reaction, Draco blinked with his white eyelashes before nodding his head. A strange feeling then washed over Harry, as if a soft breeze had passed through his veins. It made him feel warm, and he slid up his sleeves a little. This immediately drew Draco's reaction, and in a blink of an eye the boy had moved himself over to Harry. "Harry!" he nearly shouted, bending a little through his knees as he grabbed for the boy's arm. "You should've told me you were hurt!"

Frowning his eyebrows at first, unsure what Draco was talking about, Harry looked down at his arm in Draco's hand — glowing red of burns and forming scars. It had been caused by him supporting Draco on the way home, and back then it had felt so incredibly painful — but his mind had shut it out, had made the fact that angels existed a priority above pain. "Oh," Harry commented on the matter, "I completely forgot."

Not another word then left Draco's lips, instead he simply placed his warm hands over Harry's arm once more and stared at it with those bright white eyes of him. The warmth slowly changed from extremely hot to a comfortable, quite pleasant warmth that made Harry almost sigh out of contentment. Slowly lifting his hand again, the red burns had faded away immediately, and Harry's arm appeared as if nothing of the sort had ever happened. "There you go," Draco said, the faintest smile carried upon his lips. "All nicely healed."

"Thank you, Draco," Harry told him, and Draco briefly let his eyes meet with Harry's.

Their conversation then got interrupted by a loud voice, loud shouts coming from downstairs — followed by footsteps bonking their way up the stairs with no shame nor hesitation. “Potter!” It came a few moment later from right underneath the closed hatch. “Open, _now_!” It was without mistake Dudley’s voice, probably still furious about what had happened before.

“It surprises me it took him so long to return home — had expected him to barge in already hours ago,” Harry calmy shared with Draco, whom held his head a little askew as Dudley went on with his shouting, now banging on the walls of the hallway. If only Petunia’s floral wallpaper wouldn’t get dirty or rip this way…

“Shall we open the hatch? He seems very persistent,” Draco suggested, but Harry simply lifted his shoulders.

“Dunno... he’ll probably just shout at me more, perhaps come upstairs to give me a good punch in the stomach. Then leave again; tell my aunt and uncle I’m not allowed to have dinner.”

Draco blinked a few times with his eyes, but didn’t seem quite surprised by those words at all. And Harry on his part wasn’t surprised by that — if this boy had spent over sixteen years observing his life, he should know how things went on by now. “I’ll handle it,” Draco then said, not waiting for a reply and opening the hatch, pushing down the ladder.

Almost immediately Dudley’s chubby fingers curled themselves around its rungs and his heavy figure crawled up at the speed of lightning. “ _You!_ Embarrassing me in front of my friends! You—“ Dudley’s sputtering abruptly came to an end as Draco placed himself right in front of Harry’s cousin. Dudley’s brown eyes grew wide and appeared shocked, as if he’d just seen the largest spider on earth. Or an _angel_ — which in this case was the truth.

Harry would forever remain clueless on how an angel’s eyes worked, or what powers they possessed exactly, but within a few seconds Dudley turned around again and went down the ladder in the most peaceful and humane way Harry’d ever seen him do. It was quite a strange sight, but one he could definitely get used to.

“What exactly did you do, if I may ask?” Harry turned himself to Draco, who had pulled up the ladder and closed the hatch as if he was the one who'd been living on this attic for years — well, _actually..._

“Let’s say I pursued him into forgetting today’s events — and perhaps a slice of his hate for you. Although, his soul is quite rotten, so I believe it won’t last any longer than a few days," he calmly explained.

Probably never would Harry understand how this boy could stay so calm about his own powers — about something so out of this world. Perhaps one got used it after all these years. Who knew Draco'd been surprised and shocked by his own powers at first too. “I am truly amazed at what you can do, Draco. It’s... _strange_ yet _mesmerizing_! Such great power!”

“Great is the power of God and that of his servants, Harry.” With those words Draco paced a little through the room before slowly seating himself on the edge of Harry’s bed. “I believe it’s dinner time.”

As it left his lips, Harry could hear the bells from the church’s tower chime seven times. He'd always been able to hear it all the way to where the Dursley's lived — and it sounded the loudest up on the attic. “I’ll be back soon again. Don’t go anywhere!" he told Draco as he once again opened the hatch.

“Wouldn’t know where to go. At least, not without you that is.”

☾ *:･ﾟ✧

During dinner Harry once more found it extremely hard to concentrate himself. His mind kept wandering off to Draco and the many questions he still had that he wanted an answer to. Poking into his food, he also kept his eyes focused on Dudley, whom had been acting extremely weird ever since he came down the stairs.

"Are you looking forward to dinner, Harry? Will you come sit next to me, Harry? More potatoes, Harry? Shall I refill your glass, Harry?"

Neither of those words had ever left Dudley's lips in his entire life, and it had shocked both Harry as Dudley's parents so greatly that neither of them had been able to even eat half of their plates. Dudley on the other hand had eaten like a pig — a decent one for once though, which once more had shocked the Dudleys. Harry hadn't been surprised either when Vernon'd decided to call a doctor straight after he'd left the table, and the trio had driven off a few moments later.

Done with the dishes, Harry'd climbed up the ladder again and found Draco staring at one of the attic's walls as if there hung a beautiful, intricate painting of which he was memorizing every single detail of. But there was no such thing, and so Harry blinked with his eyes a few times — once again clueless about what went on in an angel's mind.

“Enjoyed your meal?” Draco now asked, turning his head to Harry again.

“It was alright. Petunia’s cooking has never been the best, let’s face it… And Dudley was acting all strange." Draco's lips curled slightly, and there were no explaining words needed for the both of them to understand why exactly he'd been acting that way. "I was wondering though," Harry continued, "should I have brought something for you as well? Foods or drinks?”

Draco shook his head, a little smile gracing his porcelain face. “An angel does not drink nor eat — nor breathe nor sleep.”

Slightly surprised by this new information, Harry gave Draco a strange look. “You don’t sleep either?” Another shake of his head. “Then what do you do the entire night?”

Draco lifted his shoulder slightly. “Nothing, really. Guard my Mortal. Guard _you_.”

How could one do simply nothing else than look after another person the entire day, the entire night? “There must be more to it than just guarding me, isn't there?”

“I’d say guarding you is about all that there is to it. Of course I have my powers, I can fly, I can communicate with my brothers and other immortals from the beyond — but I don’t think there’s anything more to it, no.” Draco shook his head, lifting his shoulders slightly again as if Harry'd just asked about the weather and he'd answered with 'sunny as always', or something alike. It didn't quite add up in Harry's mind, but he tried his best to understand.

“Don’t you ever get bored then?” he couldn't help but ask, for he knew he'd become terribly bored must he'd been in Draco's place.

“Boredom is one of the things — one of our emotions that has been taken from us, as it is believed that boredom should not exist on an Earth shaped so beautifully by our God. There is always something to do, always some purpose to live for.” A content little smile formed on Draco's face; a peaceful one that spread a warm feeling through Harry's body.

“It’s strange.”

Here Draco laughed, and Harry soon followed.

☾ *:･ﾟ✧

It got late faster than any other day, and although there were no windows in the sloped roofs of the small attic — still Harry could sense the stars above their heads, shining their brightest on that night. They'd been talking for another few hours and sat there peacefully trying to understand the weird situation they were in. Harry'd tried his best to make the little homework he'd gotten, but Draco's eyes had been so incredibly hard to ignore. They'd burned in his back, had made his mind go crazy almost. It was something Harry knew he'd have to get used to. And the faster, the better.

"Are you really just going to stand there and watch me sleep?" Draco nodded curtly. "Aren't you tired then?"

Harry'd finally crawled into bed as the church tower in the distance had chimed twelve times — announcing midnight. Sleep had crept up into his eyes, but at the same time he knew it would be hard to fall asleep with Draco still in the same room as him. Now tucked under two blankets and his eyes pointed at the white figure next to him, Harry once again questioned why angels were so incredibly weird.

That little smirk again. "Angels don't need sleep, Harry. And don't worry about me, I've done this every night since the day you were brought here."

Harry sighed deeply. _Alright, if he's done it for over sixteen years, he should be alright, no?_ "Can you at least sit down or something? Your legs might start to hurt."

A blink of eyes followed. "If that will ease your mind…" Draco slowly sat himself down on the floor, back as straight as could be and pale eyes forever casted upon Harry.

Silence almost immediately fell upon them like a heavy blanket, and Harry took it as his cue to close his eyes and try to drift off into sleep. Yet his mind wouldn't let him rest; all too curious wether Draco would sit there and watch him all night long like he said he would — or wether he would do something else, go away or whatever it was that angels did during the night.

Over an hour had passed by the time Harry slowly opened his eyes again, not having slept for a minute but having pondered to the point where his brain felt fried. A terrible headache was drumming against his forehead and his eyes stung as if he'd opened them in salty water. To his surprise, or perhaps not, Draco hadn't moved an inch — his pale eyes still fixated intensely on Harry. "Relax, Harry," his soothing voice suggested in whispers.

"I simply can't," Harry murmured back, letting a hand go over his face and rubbing in his stinging eyes.

"You have for the past years though," Draco reasoned. A reasoning that sounded incredibly silly to Harry at that moment.

He therefore let out a long, deep sigh. "But I never knew you were there… never _saw_ you."

Draco seemed to see the point in that fact, and held his head a little tilted. "If I could, I would make myself invisible again—

"Don't!" Harry interrupted him, voice slightly raised and shaking with a certain… _worry_?

That worry seemed to amuse Draco, and he smiled softly. "— but I am unable to. And even if I wanted, I wouldn't alright? You've got my word."

A slight nod. _Yes_ , Draco wouldn't just disappear like that again. _No_ , he was Harry's guardian angel and would therefore remain by his side _. Yes. Yes indeed._ Harry turned himself on his back now, eyes pointed towards the ceiling. "Are you less lonely now that I can see you?" he curiously asked.

Awaiting an answer, Harry kept his eyes on the darkness above him. Would it be dark in heaven right now as well? What would it be like? _A million stars twinkling, a cloud drifting by…_ a gigantic moon! "Yes." The word was said so silently that Harry didn't hear Draco at first. A few seconds later he turned himself to the boy; looked at his white presence that was slightly illuminating in his dark room.

"What did you say?" Harry asked, unsure if Draco had actually said something or not.

"Yes," Draco immediately repeated, face expressionless.

"I'm glad," Harry answered, putting on a little smile and trying to find Draco's eyes.

As soon as his green ones locked with grey, that strong feeling he'd felt earlier outside on the street overwhelmed him again. Even though it was so extremely intense and sucked the energy literally out of him; he somehow had missed it. _Addicting_ , that was what he would call that gaze. Yet he wasn't able to satisfy that addiction, that _hunger_ for any longer than a few seconds. "Don't," he heard Draco say, casting his eyes to the floor.

"Don't _what?_ Lock eyes with you?" Harry asked, confused. Draco nodded. "Why not?"

A deep sigh, which surprised Harry as he didn't know angels could sigh — didn't they need breath to do that? "You would not understand," he simply replied; cold and with a slight hint of anger. An emotion Harry thought he'd never hear from such a calm, peaceful presence as that of Draco.

"Not if you won't even try to explain it to me," Harry bit back, unwilling to give up.

Draco lifted his gaze again, and this time his eyes were a bright white again — like the first time Harry'd seen them. Immediately the overwhelming feeling washed over him once more; intensely and entirely different than before. He could _feel_ how Draco reached his soul, could feel how he slowly started losing control over his own body, his own mind. "The one that stares too long might not like what follows," Draco then cited, before dropping the gaze.

Catching for breath he'd not been able to breathe during the short moment, Harry let his head hang. "What was that?" he asked, slightly afraid to look at Draco once more.

"The true gaze of an angel." Soft footsteps on wood then told him Draco'd stood up; had started paced across the room. "Addicting yet extremely dangerous."

"Dangerous _how_? At first it didn't feel like you were sneaking into my mind, but then…"

Draco turned himself to Harry again, who finally looked up once more. His eyes were their pale gray again, and it relieved Harry somehow. "That is because I did not use my power — but what if you're staring and I accidentally will? What if I lock eyes with you too long and do not realize that I am sucking the soul out of your body? What if—"

"What if you just relax and sit down so you don't wake up my cousin with your back and forth pacing."

A moment of silence followed. Tension bloomed in the air like a dark flower catching flame. They both stared at each other, and it was clearly visible in Draco's eyes that he got terribly surprised by this tension, by Harry's words. "You are unbelievable, Harry," soon after followed.

"I thought I was strange?" Harry replied, continuing in the same tone without shame.

"Unbelievable _and_ strange then. Nobody would ever talk to an angel the way you do."

"Thought humans weren't able to see angels? So how would you know when you've never communicated with one."

Draco finally stopped his pacing, his head a little tilted as he gave Harry a judging look. "What makes you think I've never communicated with one?" His voice held a hint of anger once more, and Harry couldn't deny that it made his heart jump a little — made him feel perhaps a tiny bit scared.

"So I am not the first Mortal to see you? Or at least, to survive seeing you?"

Draco seemed to bite his teeth there, his eyes casted towards the floor. "It is complicated."

"Complicated how?"

Turning his back now towards Harry, the boy dressed in white seemed to ponder over something — seemed to struggle with the situation. "Please…" it then followed as Draco slowly turned around again. "Please do not think of me any differently after I tell you this. Promise me you won't think I'm a bad Guardian because of this." Another sigh escaped Draco's lips, but once again a sigh that didn't seem to be truly real — more an illusion of one.

Swallowing, Harry nodded once with his head. "I promise."

Sitting himself back down, crosslegged onto the floor next to Harry's bed, Draco started drawing circles on the floorboards with his right index finger. "Many Mortals I've guarded before have gotten ill, which resulted in their passing… Once again — it's not _my_ fault, it's something not even God has control over. Mortals get sick because of other Mortals their faults, not ours. Anyhow… when a Mortal of a Guardian passes, in their last few seconds of Mortal life, they will _see_ their Guardian appear — they will be able to see the Immortal that has been by their side for days, months, _years_. It is then the Guardian's task to guide the Mortal to heaven, before being assigned a new one to guard."

Harry tried to let this new information sink in. There had been others before him… And it slightly surprised him. Had it been silly of him to think he'd been the only one to Draco? Perhaps the first _and_ last? _Maybe_. A hint of jealousy washed through him, but only lasted a second. It quickly got exchanged for compassion and pity — both for the many Mortals that had gotten ill and had died, as well as for Draco whom had had to deal with who knew how many of those cases… Harry at that moment was extremely glad he'd been healthy for already his entire life, besides from the few bruises and blue eyes.

His curious side wanted to ask all about the other Mortals — about what they were like and things alike, but he knew Draco wasn't ready to talk about that yet. Harry could simply sense that even though nothing on Draco's calm face gave any of that emotion away. There would be another time to ask, Harry was sure of it.

"Will you only get children to guard? Or older people too?" Harry decided to ask instead, and a certain relief was readable on Draco's face after that question reached his ears.

"It depends wether their faith has been transferred to their souls by their parents — or wether they find faith at an older age. Most Mortals we are assigned to guard are between the age of ten and fifty — but we've had older and younger Mortals too. Baby's however… are extremely rare."

Frowning his eyebrows a little, Harry tried to make sense of something. "When did you start guarding me? I thought you said you've been guarding me for sixteen years, no? So, does that make me—"

"— _extremely_ rare, indeed."

"But why? I've never shown that much interest in religion or anything!"

"Your parents did, Harry. In their last seconds of Mortal life they begged their own Guardians to guard their child as well — that they trusted in God to protect you."

Literally stunned by this information, Harry's mind came to a halt. He couldn't think for a second nor could he speak. Never had he heard anyone talk about his parents before — besides the one or two times his aunt and uncle had brought them up, only to bring them down with their vile words and lies. Never had he thought he'd hear stories about them, know more than one or two things. Yet here he was, talking to an angel sent by God — hearing tales from him. After what felt like long, slow minutes, he finally found his voice again. "My parents had a Guardian angel as well?"

"They did. And not only one — they both had their own. Another rare thing, to say the least. As you see, two angels working together so closely — it is extremely difficult."

"Why's that? I thought you were brothers? Aren't you supposed to love each other?"

"Oh, we do, Harry. We do. But imagine if you were tied to someone else for the rest of your life, spending each and every day with them and only having a few times a day where you would be separated. Not all angels can handle such a thing."

"But the Guardians of my parents could?" Draco nodded. "Are they still alive? I mean—"

"Wether they still _exist_?" Harry now nodded, to which Draco slowly nodded as well. "They are in Heaven for already sixteen years — since the day your parents passed away. Both of them decided to give up their guardian job, instead they wander the streets of silver doing other things."

A million new questions had been added to Harry's list. He still had so many things to ask Draco about himself, but now he wanted to know everything about his parents their angels too. Not to mention…

"I've been wondering… are my parents up there as well?"

Here, Draco gave Harry a sympathetic look. "What makes you think they weren't?"

At those words, the heart of the raven-haired boy started beating faster. His parents were up there, living where Draco came from — where Draco often visited! A sudden excitement overwhelmed him and the boy sat up straight in bed, startling Draco a tiny bit. "You must've talked to them, no? You must've seen them, at least?" He pushed, his eyes as big as fishbowls.

Draco's little smile appeared again, not minding Harry's extreme enthusiasm. "I have seen them many times over the past years — and I've spoken to them at least a dozen times too. They always ask about you, always wondering if you're doing alright." Hearing those things about his parents made Harry's excitement turn into a certain sadness, a certain melancholy. Tears slowly started swelling up in his eyes, and as hard as he tried to push them away, they quickly flowed down his cheeks. "They love you so, so much, Harry. And do know that they can see you from up there too — not always, not clearly, but they can."

Wiping the tears away from his cheeks, Harry imagined his parents on a soft white cloud, waving their hands at him with smiles upon their faces. Surrounded by gold, wings of their own on their backs. If only he could give them a hug, if only he could see them and talk to them — tell them he loved them too. "It is a lot to take in, is it not?" Draco's calming voice then said, gently reaching out a hand for Harry to hold. The raven-haired boy accepted, feeling a soothing warmth on the palm of his own hand. A warmth that seemed to heal his little broken heart. "Today has been tiring for you," Draco continued, then stood up and placed another hand gently on Harry's shoulder — telling Harry to lie down again. And so he did — feeling the soft feathers of his pillow touch his head. The warm hand left his shoulder, now gently touched his forehead, a few locks of his hair. "Try to sleep for now. Try to have a wonderful dream."

The last thing Harry remembered was feeling a soft, warm breeze blowing over his face — followed by the darkness of sleep.

☾ *:･ﾟ✧

_"I'm telling you, they're been driving way too fast for already a quarter of a hour now — they better slow down or I swear an accident is going to happen!"_

_"Oh shut up, Eden! They're going 55 in a 50 lane, with no cars in sight! You know how James is when he's feeling cheerful — always wants to drive home a tiny bit faster than usual. See! They're already slowing down!"_

_"Yeah, because they're nearing a red light, you idiot."_

_"Don't call me an idiot! You're the biggest one of the two of us, and you know it!"_

_"You just can't take it when I call you any names, can you, Elliott?"_

_"Perhaps…"_

_"You know I don't mean it like that — I’m just joking, you should know that by now._

_"I know, I know. Oh look, it's green again. Get those old wings of yours started up, will you?"_

_"Haha, very funny. You know my wings —"_

_"EDEN!"_

_"QUICK!"_

_"We're too late — we're too late!"_

_"No, we're not! We can't be!"_

_"I can't look — I won't look!_

_"You have to, we have to try! We need to! Elliott try to get Lily out!"_

_"She is stuck! Her head… her head… Eden…"_

_"Not now, Elliott! Focus! Get her out!"_

_"It's to late, Eden… Too late…"_

_"No! I got James! I got…"_

_"It's too late…"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took me a little while to write chapter 2. I actually started working on it almost immediately after chapter 1 but found it hard to finish. Will probably post a new one once a month, or earlier if my writer's creativity jumps out!
> 
> You may have noticed that there will be a lot of conversations in this fic, because I find that it's very important for this particular story/theme. Of course a lot of other stuff will happen too!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it! Feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts.


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